All it Takes
by atomic-oblaat
Summary: It's first year and Harry's made a friend in Madam Malkins. How will this affect Harry's destiny? His social life? Slytherin!Harry- no, he's not evil... Possible future HarryxDraco, chronicling Harry's first year, just under different circumstances.
1. Diagon Alley

Author's note: Hi there. The following is an idea that I've had (along with the rest of the Harry Potter fandom, I know…) for years now. Basically, when Harry meets both Draco and Ron, he's very young, he's just been thrown into a world of magic and he's very open to persuasion. I am of the opinion that, given the opportunity to talk to Draco more, he would have been influenced by him instead and Draco would probably have been Harry's best friend instead of Ron. Harry would have been sorted into Slytherin because the sorting hat felt that best, and without Ron's (and Hagrid's) biases against it, he wouldn't have protested.

Anyways, this is basically what would have happened in that case. Starting in Madam Malkins that fateful day. Any actual dialogue from the book is kept the same, but as many events change entirely, there aren't many direct lifts.

Enjoy and let me know what you think. I did this because I couldn't find any good ones on my own. =) So please tell me if you like. I do plan to keep going all the way through the books, or until I get tired of writing this shit. lol

By the way, it's 3:17 in the morning and I'm tired. I apologise if there are any spelling errors in this. I've gone through it about 10 times now, but it's getting exceedingly difficult to type and even more difficult to think. So just hit me up if anything pops out and bites you.

All it Takes

"No one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been – imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

Harry shifted his weight nervously. "Mmm," he said, wishing he could say something just a bit more interesting. He must sound terribly bland, but with his limited knowledge of the Wizarding World, there wasn't much else he could come up with, other than revealing his ignorance to the pale blonde; somehow he felt that he was better off faking it.

"Well," the boy continued, not slowing down for a second, "Father's told me all about the sorting ceremony of course. He said they put this filthy old hat on your head, and then it digs around in your brain to figure out where you should go. It all depends on your personality, you see. Slytherin, for example, only accepts students who are ambitious, determined and resourceful. So even if my family weren't all in Slytherin, there's no doubt in my mind that that's where I'd be." He smirked in a self-satisfied fashion, as if this proclamation was deserving of some sort of reward.

Harry, however, felt as though his mind was swimming. So these _houses_, they were sort of like teams then? "I'm sorry," he started, deciding he'd rather get straight information than pretend he knew what the boy was talking about, "but how many houses are there again? You mentioned Slytherin and one other, are there more?"

The boy gawked slightly. "You don't know?" he asked incredulously. His gaze turned suddenly steely, grey eyes flashing dangerously as he narrowed his eyebrows. "You _do _come from a wizarding family, don't you?"

"Er," Harry began, wilting a bit under the harsh glare he was receiving, "I think so, I mean – my parents were both wizards, if that's what you mean, but they died when I was a baby. I've been living with muggles my whole life, that's why I don't know anything about Hogwarts… I didn't even know I was a wizard until just last night."

"Really? That's bizarre…" It was almost comical how quickly the glare faded from the boy's face. "I'm terribly sorry," he continued, sounding anything but, although Harry supposed it was better than the over-indulgent sympathy he had received from every other wizard or witch he had met thus far. "That's tragic, about your parents, but you didn't have any other relatives you could have stayed with? Someone, you know, of our kind…?"

Harry shook his head. "I guess not. Would have made my life that much easier, I imagine, if I had."

"That's just awful… Must have been terrible, living with them." Harry was about to say something – yes, it had been awful, but all muggles weren't really that bad – but the boy just kept going, "No need to worry now, though, is there? You're with your own kind and I'll personally explain to you the ins and outs of our world so you won't feel excluded." Harry's heart swelled slightly. Had he just made his first ever friend…? "My name's Malfoy, by the way, Draco Malfoy." He extended his hand and Harry shook it without a second thought.

"Harry Potter," he replied, not at all shocked, by this point, when Draco's eyes widened and his grip tightened exponentially on his hand.

"Really…?" he exclaimed, still holding on to Harry's hand, "Well, I suppose that makes perfect sense then, what you told me before." Realising what he was doing, he finally released his grip and smiled slightly, although it looked to Harry more like a smirk. "I suppose you'll know by now that you're famous, then?"

"Yeah," he laughed slightly, "yeah, I think I noticed that."

Draco chuckled and opened his mouth to say something, but at that exact moment Madam Malkin patted Harry's arm and said, "That's you done, my dear." Harry muttered his thanks and hopped down from the stool. When he had his robes all packaged up and paid for, he followed Draco out of the store.

"Say," Draco started, "why don't you come with us to look at racing brooms? I imagine you've never seen one before, living with the muggles and all. I could even explain how Quidditch works. I know you'd love it. Best sport in the world, Quidditch is."

Harry lit up at once. "Really?" he asked, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. Draco was right, he had never seen a racing broom before, nor had he seen _any _kind of flying broom, really, at least not apart from the Halloween movies he'd sometimes sneak into the living room and watch when the Dursleys were away. "I'd love to! But, I haven't got all my supplies yet, I suppose I should get those first." Harry had a sudden start as he remembered Hagrid. "Which reminds me…"

"Hey there Harry! Got yer school robes already, did yeh?" Draco jumped about a foot into the air when he caught sight of Hagrid walking towards them in great lumbering strides. He looked like he had just seen a ghost and one with a particularly gruesome visage at that. "Flourish and Blotts is right nex' door, we can get yer books there," Hagrid said, voice booming across the street, causing several people to stop and stare. Draco seemed extremely uncomfortable.

"Oh," Harry stumbled, feeling quite awkward himself. "Er, Hagrid, this is Draco Malfoy. Draco, Hagrid is the gamekeeper at Hogwarts. He's been showing me around Diagon Alley." He felt proud, for a moment, to know something about Hogwarts that his new friend didn't, but the looks on both his companion's faces quickly erased any happiness he might have felt. Hagrid finally noticed Draco and regarded him with a rather forced smile, sort of the way his Aunt Petunia smiled when Vernon's sister Marge came to visit with her disgusting bulldogs; Draco, on the other hand, had a look on his face like he had just stepped in a fresh pile of droppings. Harry looked back and forth between the two, wondering what he had just done in introducing them.

"Hello there," Hagrid said finally, with obviously forced politeness, "friend of Harry's are yeh?"

Draco smiled, or rather grimaced; as he replied in the drawling voice Harry had heard him first speak in, "Yes… We just met and we were about to go purchase the rest of his supplies before we looked at racing brooms…"

" – That is," Harry cut in quickly, seeing the surprised hurt in Hagrid's beady black eyes, "if that's alright with you, Hagrid. I just thought…"

"Oh no," Hagrid said loudly, again startling several passerby, "that's jus' fine, Harry. Best you be socializin' with kids yer own age than hanging around with an old fart like me…"

Harry felt like screaming. "Hagrid, you're not a-"

"I'll not be hearin' it!" he interrupted, "you two get on now. Have fun, Harry, and don't be getting' up to nothin' funny, yeh hear?" He was smiling as he said it, but Harry couldn't help but notice the slight look Hagrid gave Draco as he turned and walked away. "Oh," he said suddenly, turning back around to face them, "when you're done, Harry, meet me back in The Leaky Cauldron. I've still got to get you back to them Dursleys before the night's up." Then, with one final smile and a wave, he disappeared around the corner. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, again wondering just what had happened.

Behind him, Draco scoffed, drawing Harry out of his reverie. "What a strange man," he drawled, "I think I've heard of him. Heard he's some sort of savage who lives on the grounds and gets drunk more often than not. Guess it's true then."

Harry finally gave in and sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Look," he started, carefully keeping his voice even, as he didn't want to offend his only friend thus far, something that seemed exceedingly easy to do. "It's obvious you two don't particularly like each other, but I think Hagrid's brilliant and I'm extremely grateful for everything he's done for me. He took me away from the Dursleys – that is, the muggles I live with – so let's just not talk about it, yeah?"

Draco looked slightly stunned for a moment before he seemed to give it a real thought. "I suppose…" he began, "that I can see where you're coming from. I mean, if _I_ were in your situation, I guess I'd be grateful too, no matter _who_ it was." Harry sighed in relief, glad to be free from the threat of confrontation. "Anyways," he continued, "I'll agree to forget about it. We should get your stuff anyways, if we want to have time to swing by Quality Quidditch Supplies. There's Flourish and Blotts there," he pointed next door to a small, somewhat crooked building with large windows. "You can get your school books and we can meet up with Father. He'll be absolutely thrilled to meet you, you know."

Flourish and Blotts was about as crooked on the inside as it looked on the out. Bookshelves were stacked as high as the ceiling with the kind of rolling ladders one might find in an old library, stairs lead up to an even more crooked looking second floor and Harry was surprised the books didn't simply fall off their shelves from all the odd angles. Immediately upon entering, Draco made his way to the front counter, closely followed by Harry who instantly recognized the man paying for a somewhat large stack of books as his friend's father. He had long platinum hair, which was tied back by a black ribbon and a very sharp and elegant appearance that was only enhanced by his silver and black walking stick. When he turned around, Harry could see Draco's steel-grey eyes peering down at him from his father's face. Harry couldn't help gulping slightly under that intense gaze; this was a man who could easily intimidate Uncle Vernon without lifting a finger. Suddenly Draco Malfoy made perfect sense.

The man smiled at last and shifted his gaze to his son. "Draco. I see you've gotten your robes. Was everything in order?"

"Yes, Father. What about my books? Have you gotten it all?"

Mr. Malfoy held up a pewter cauldron containing the books he had just purchased. "I have indeed," he said, pulling out a small green book with a gold winged ball on the cover. He held it up for his son to see, "including that Quidditch book you mentioned this morning." Draco's eyes widened and a large grin broke out on his face.

"Yes!" he exclaimed and snatched the book from Mr. Malfoy, thumbing through it greedily. His father tutted loudly.

"Don't you think you're being rude, Draco? You haven't even introduced me to your friend yet. The book can wait."

Draco looked at Harry somewhat sheepishly for a moment before he seemed to regain his composure. He handed the book back to his father who placed it among its fellows in the cauldron. "Father," Draco started, sounding very important, "this is Harry Potter. Harry, this is my father."

Harry was really starting to get used to the kind of look Mr. Malfoy gave him, the widened eyes, a quick glance to his forehead, a whispered proclamation of shock; Mr. Malfoy did, however, recover much quicker than most, molding his face back into a pleasant, if not slightly haughty smile. "Lucius Malfoy, Mr. Potter," he extended his hand in offering and Harry took it, marveling at the tight grip with which his hand was shook. "It is… a pleasure to meet you. Any friend of Draco's is a friend of mine, of course. I assume you'll be starting Hogwarts as well?"

"Yes sir, I'm actually here to purchase my books."

"Excellent. There is a display there," he said, motioning to a large table in the very center of the store laden with several stacks of books, "which has all of the necessities. Draco, I'm sure you can help Mr. Potter select what he needs."

Draco nodded and turned to Harry. "You do have money, don't you? I mean, _our_ money?"

Harry was about to answer when Mr. Malfoy scoffed. "Draco," he said, scolding his son seemingly, "why would Mr. Potter be without money?" He raised his eyebrow and gazed from Draco to Harry and back again. "I'm sure his… guardian gave him enough to purchase his supplies, didn't they Harry?"

Once again, Draco cut him off before he could open his mouth. "That's just it, Father. He lives with _muggles_. That…" he glanced briefly at Harry before continuing, "_man…_ Hagrid, I believe, was escorting him before we met. I only want to be sure he has enough."

Mr. Malfoy seemed astonished and slightly horrified. "Good Heavens… _Muggles?_ I expected you'd be raised with _our _kind. They did tell you all about your family though, I imagine? Your story?" When Harry shook his head, Mr. Malfoy continued, aghast, "Anything about our world?"

"Not a thing."

"My word…" Lucius Malfoy looked as though he needed to sit down. "Well I certainly am glad you met Draco here. He can fill you in properly on the way our world works. Wouldn't want you being mislead by that oaf, Hagrid or any filthy mudbloods or blood traitors. If you don't have any money, I would, of course, be only too happy to purchase your school equipment, perhaps set up a trust fund for you…"

"Oh, no sir," Harry cut in, trying to get Mr. Malfoy to stop talking more than anything else. Draco was tolerable, but his father really was a bit overdone and the comment about Hagrid had gotten under his skin. "My parents left me a good deal of money. I really don't need anything, but thank you for the offer. I appreciate your generosity."

Mr. Malfoy nodded, obviously pleased that Harry wasn't poor, and Draco led him over to the display to select his schoolbooks.

After Flourish and Blotts, they made several stops to buy Harry's cauldron (pewter, although Harry and Draco both agreed the solid gold cauldron would have been better – Lucius Malfoy, however, disagreed. Thus, pewter it was.) They also purchased a nice set of scales, a collapsible brass telescope (Draco's suggestion) and his potions ingredients. Their next stop was Eeylop's Owl Emporium. As Draco pointed out, you were allowed one animal at Hogwarts, and Harry, who had never even had a pet in the house, other than Aunt Marge's ugly dogs, hastily agreed that it was an offer too good to pass up. Eeylop's was dark and smelled of all manner of animal feces, but it was worth it to walk out with a large snowy owl in a cage. He would have to go through his books later to find a decent wizarding name for her.

Finally, all that was left was his wand. They met up with Narcissa Malfoy, Draco's mother, outside Ollivander's and after a quick introduction (in which Mr. Malfoy was sure to inform her of Harry's "situation" with the Dursleys – to save Harry the trouble, of course) they entered the store. Mr. Ollivander went through about ten wands, before he finally found one suitable for Harry, and suitable it was indeed. His whole arm seemed to come alive as he held it, a warm tingling sensation shooting through his veins as red and gold sparks shot out the end of the wand. "Oh, bravo!" Ollivander exclaimed, "Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well… How curious, how very curious…"

"Sorry," Harry said as Ollivander wrapped his wand in brown paper and placed it in a thin box, "but what's curious?"

Mr. Ollivander solemnly explained that the phoenix whose tail feather resided in Harry's wand had a twin – another feather that made up Voldemort's wand, the wand that gave him his scar. "Yes, thirteen and a half inches," he continued sternly, but with a strange twinkle in his eye, "Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember… I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter… After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things – terrible, yes, but great." Harry was aware that all eyes in the room were fixed on him. He shivered and took his box, sliding it into his jeans pocket. He paid seven galleons for the wand then stepped outside, relieved to feel the fresh air after the stuffy shop.

After a moment of silence, Draco spoke up. "Can we go look at racing brooms now, Father? Mother?"

Mr. Malfoy began to agree, but his wife cut him off before he could open his mouth. "Absolutely not," she stated simply. "We have one more stop to make before I allow you to run off to do as you please, and let me just say now – you will _not_ be buying a broomstick today. You have one at home to practice with and first years are not permitted them at Hogwarts so you have no need to buy a new one." Draco withered beside him and there was no doubt in Harry's mind as to who _really_ ran the Malfoy household. He wished his Aunt Petunia could have been more like this woman. Maybe then Dudley wouldn't be such a pile of useless flesh. "Harry dear," Mrs. Malfoy began again, turning her attention to him, "we're off to Twilfitt and tatting's to get you some new clothes. No offense to _you _dear, but I don't know what those muggles were thinking when they dressed you."

Harry blushed slightly. "Actually, these were Dudley's old clothes, that is to say, they gave them to me when he grew out of them, so no offense taken."

Narcissa put a hand to her mouth, whether in shock or nausea, he couldn't be sure. "My goodness…" she whispered incredulously, "I must insist on purchasing you a new wardrobe. I'm paying, no excuses."

Harry opened and closed his mouth before finally settling on a simple 'thank you.' "You really don't have to, though…"

"Nonsense."

A couple of hours later found Harry laden down with several overflowing bags of crisp new clothing, all hand picked by Mrs. Malfoy and tailored to fit by the eager young sales clerk, Pierre, if Harry remembered correctly. Draco had also procured a few new dress shirts and a pair of shiny black tuxedo shoes as compensation for being made to wait for the two of them. After Twilfitt and Tatting's, Narcissa had finally relented and allowed them to go look at racing brooms on the one condition that Draco not come back with anything bigger than a new snitch. As they examined the Nimbus Two – Thousand, the fastest racing broom yet, Draco explained the rules of Quidditch to Harry, and although it was far too much information to process at once; what with all the different kinds of balls, the flying and the point – winning, Harry was beginning to get a vague picture of how the game worked.

Currently, the two of them were sitting outside Florian Fortesque's ice cream parlour, licking at their double scoop cones. Draco was explaining the Hogwarts houses.

"There's four of them total," he said, sweeping his tongue around the edge of his cone to prevent the liquefied mint chocolate – chip from dripping onto his hand, "Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. Like I said before, you're sorted based on your personality. Slytherin accepts people with cunning, ambition and determination. Ravenclaw is where all of the really smart kids go, you know, the brainiacs. Gryffindor is all about bravery, but if you ask me, that's just another word for stupidity, looking before you leap, you know."

"So then, what's Hufflepuff?" Harry asked, already knowing which house he preferred the most.

Draco snorted. "Who knows what a Hufflepuff is. Honestly, it's like the reject cesspool of Hogwarts, from what Father's told me. It's where all the losers go, the ones that don't fit anywhere else. Like I said before, I'd flat leave if I were sorted into Hufflepuff."

Harry laughed. "Yeah, I suppose you're right." He licked at his ice cream. Raspberry and chocolate with chopped nuts; it was the first time he had had ice cream in years, the last time was shortly after Dudley's seventh birthday. Harry had sneaked into the kitchen while the Dursleys were out and stolen a scoop or two from the freezer. Of course, Dudley had remembered _precisely_ how much ice cream was in the carton and checked it immediately upon returning. Harry had been locked in his cupboard for two days without food.

"So," Draco drawled, looking at Harry, "I would assume you'll want to be in Slyherin then?"

"Mmm," he mumbled around a mouthful of chocolate – raspberry, "I suppose so. I guess Gryffindor wouldn't be too bad either. I know I'm not smart enough for Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff…" he trailed off and he and Draco looked at each other briefly before both boys burst into a fit of laughter. It really did feel good to laugh with a friend, Harry thought as he watched Draco attempt to save his scoop of ice cream from falling off his cone. He was finally unsuccessful and Harry laughed even harder at the look of disgust on his face.

"I was done with it anyways," he scoffed, but eventually he just had to give in and laugh along with Harry.

Draco's parents arrived at the ice cream parlour several minutes later and informed Draco that they would be leaving shortly, as it was getting dark.

"You can get home on your own then?" Mrs. Malfoy asked as he got up to throw away his now raspberry flavoured napkins. "You know you're more than welcome to stay with us at The Manour if you'd like…"

"Oh no, thank you. I mean, I'd love to, but I'm meeting Hagrid in The Leaky Cauldron and then I've got to go back to the Dursleys. Thank you so much for everything though, Mrs. Malfoy, you too, Mr. Malfoy. You've helped me so much. It was a pleasure meeting you both."

"Don't mention it, Harry," Narcissa said brusquely before pulling him into a brief hug. "I hate to see you go back to those _muggles, _though. I tell you what, why don't we come pick you up when it comes time to leave for Hogwarts? I wouldn't trust those people to get you to the right station, let alone the platform."

"I- " Harry stuttered, "I… That would be great, thank you!"

Narcissa smiled. "Just promise me you'll be wearing some decent clothing. You're a fine looking boy, Harry, you deserve to be dressed well."

"Of course, thank you…"

Lucius shook his hand briefly, upon writing down his address on a thin piece of parchment with a quill that wrote all on it's own, "A pleasure meeting you Mr. Potter," he stated once again, "Remember, it is illegal for a minor perform magic outside of school, but your muggles don't have to know that. A threatening flick of the wand should put them in their places well enough."

Harry grinned. "Thanks," he said, "I'll remember that."

"I guess I'll see you soon then?" Draco asked.

"Yeah. Thanks again for everything. I mean it."

"Oh please," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "It's fine. It was like charity work." He gave Harry a gentle push to the shoulder to let him know he was joking. Harry grinned.

"We'll see you September first then," Mrs. Malfoy said, smiling, "stay well until then."

"I will. See you all soon!" And he turned and made his way through the gathering dusk and dwindling crowd back to The Leaky Cauldron, feeling happier than he ever remembered feeling.


	2. Back to Privit Drive

Author's Note: Wow, I can't believe how many people are following this story already! I guess I'm used to writing Yuugiou fanfiction, where if you aren't writing about Atem and Yuugi, you aren't likely to get more than five reviews a month, but whatever the case is, I'm terribly thankful for you all. Not quite as thankful as I'd be if Narcissa Malfoy bought me underwear, but well, pretty damn close.

I have to say that I thoroughly enjoyed writing this chapter and I'm sure it won't be difficult to figure out why if you read on. I do love the Malfoy family so very much. =)

Also, because I forgot to do this last chapter – I don't own Harry Potter. I would have no interest in owning him unless he was a bratty little Slytherin, which I suppose, is ultimately why I'm writing this. Now the Malfoys on the other hand… that _is _a tragedy. I'd take any of them in a heartbeat. =)

***

The next month seemed to tick by very slowly, as if Harry was watching a clock. He had been prepared to wave his wand around whenever the Dursleys gave him trouble, as Mr. Malfoy had suggested, but in all truth, he hadn't the need. Dudley was already scared stiff of him, and Vernon and Petunia simply treated him as if he wasn't there. Harry supposed it was better than the verbal abuse he typically suffered at their hands, but there was something terribly lonely about this neglect.

Hedwig, as Harry had decided to name his new snowy white owl, provided a constant source of amusement, as she kept dropping dead dormice all over Harry's room. His new books were also excellent diversions; _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ and _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ were particularly intriguing, but nothing seemed to ease the mass of butterflies jumping about in his stomache.

Finally, on the last day of August, just as Harry's nervous anticipation seemed likely to cause him serious physical harm, there was a knock on his bedroom door. Surprised and not just a little bewildered, he opened it to find Uncle Vernon standing there, scratching his bushy mustache and shifting from foot to foot, looking anywhere but at Harry. It was obvious he didn't want to be there.

Finally Vernon spoke, much louder than usual. "How are you getting to this _school_ of yours, boy? I suppose you'll need us to take you somewhere, will you?"

"Oh," Harry opened and closed his mouth dumbly. He was shocked his uncle had remembered. "Er, no, actually. My friend Draco will be - "

"Your _friend?_" Mr. Dursley sneered, looking down at Harry with that familiar leer, like he was regarding an insect, "who'd want to be friends with you?"

"Oh I don't know," Harry snapped, "a _wizard, _maybe_?_ You know, one of _my kind, _remember?" Vernon spluttered slightly at the word 'wizard,' turning a beet red as Harry continued, "_Anyways_, Draco and his parents will be here tomorrow to pick me up so I don't need you to do anything. Just leave me alone like you've been doing for the past month. Now if you'll excuse me, I was in the middle of reading up on how to defend myself from dark magic – you know, just in case I'm ever in a _car crash _again." He shut the door then, catching one final glimpse of his uncle's shell-shocked expression before turning around and grinning at Hedwig, who had been regarding the whole exchange with a vague look of skepticism. She hooted at him once disapprovingly before tucking her head back under her wing. "What," he asked, still grinning. Hedwig didn't respond.

After a couple of minutes Uncle Vernon's footsteps could be heard retreating back down the stairs, but Harry did not go back to reading his schoolbooks as he had promised. Instead, he paced. His heart was racing, both from the confrontation and from his imminent liberation – and indeed, it wouldn't be long now. The sun was just beginning to set, indicating that it must have been close to eight in the evening. After sitting on the edge of his bed and fidgeting for no more than thirty seconds, he got up again and placed the two books he had been reading in Dudley's old trunk, pulling over his last remaining unpacked item – the large pile of new clothing Mrs. Malfoy had purchased for him. Everything else had been packed within the first week of returning to Privet Drive from Diagon Alley.

He and Hagrid had used the commuter rail, of all things, to complete that journey. Harry hadn't been able to avoid noticing the awkward silence between the two of them, so finally, as they were passing through Brentford, he posed the question that had been bothering him ever since that strange introduction.

"Hagrid…" The giant started at the sudden noise, looking down at Harry with a shocked expression. It took him a second before he smiled in acknowledgement, and Harry continued, "What exactly do you have against Draco?"

The smile vanished suddenly, to be replaced with a frown and furrowed brows. "Yeh've got ter understand, Harry," Hagrid's words were slow, purposeful – as if he were piecing his words together very carefully, "there are some wizarding families that are worse than others. Them Malfoys… Well, let's jus' say they're one of 'em. Prejudiced, the whole lot – think that muggles are somehow less important than themselves, inferior… I jus' don't think yer well off makin' friends with one of them-"

"You're not my dad," Harry had snapped, glaring up into Hagrid's beady black eyes. "I'm grateful for everything you've done for me, really. I mean, I wouldn't be here if not for you, but you can't tell me who I should be friends with. Don't you think that's being just as prejudiced? I mean, yeah, his family's pretty stuck up, but have you ever even met Draco before?"

Hagrid scratched his nose, obviously a little bit flustered. "Yer right, o' course, Harry. I shouldn't have tried to interfere. I am happy for yeh that yeh've made a friend yer age, don't mistake me there." He smiled in apology, but Harry could tell just by looking at him that he didn't mean it. There was something in his eyes that said quite plainly he would never approve of Draco Malfoy and Harry tried to convince himself that he didn't care.

The moon was high outside his window when Harry finally had all of his clothes packed away. He left out a pair of grey dress pants and a deep green turtleneck, laying them out flat on his now clean floor for the next morning along with his socks, shoes, belt and underwear. He had protested, of course, when Mrs. Malfoy had added those, but she had simply waved him off, stating that his wardrobe needed to be made over '_from the inside out_,' and that Dudley's old clothes were '_simply unacceptable for a young wizard of your caliber._'

Harry smiled, overcome with another wave of gratitude. No matter what Hagrid said, he would always be thankful for the Malfoy family's kindness. It was indeed true that all three were horribly stuck up and undoubtedly biased, but Harry imagined that it would be difficult to not be biased against muggles if one could whip out their wand to solve any problem. It was only because of Harry's childhood that allowed him to understand them; had he grown up in the magical community, he was sure that he would have looked down on muggles as well, at least a little.

He flopped down on his bed and watched Hedwig as she ruffled her feathers and took off into the night, undoubtedly to bring him more dead mice.

Everything was ready, and this time tomorrow, he would be at Hogwarts – the famous school for magic, a place for wizards and witches – people like him! He already had one friend and would have the opportunity to make many more; he would be dressed to impress, and the dirty grey rags Petunia had dyed in the kitchen sink for his Stonewall uniform would never see the light of day. Harry clenched his eyes shut, hardly daring to believe any of it was true. Finally, he drifted off to sleep there, lying on top of his covers, still fully clothed and dreaming about goblins, dragons, mysterious packages from high security Gringott's vaults and finally, himself – on a Nimbus Two-Thousand, soaring through the clouds.

When Harry woke the next morning, the sun was just rising. Hedwig had indeed brought him another dead dormouse, and it stared up at him with unblinking eyes from mere inches away, startling him into wakefulness and causing him to jerk to the side and fall off of his bed. Hedwig hooted in a satisfied manner, as if this was exactly what she had intended.

He stood up and glared at her, picking up the mouse and hurling it distastefully from the window. She simply pruned her feathers in response.

A quick glance out his window confirmed that it was somewhere between six and seven. Harry had no idea when the Malfoys would be there, but his train was scheduled to leave at eleven o'clock, so he hurriedly changed clothes and locked Hedwig's cage so she couldn't fly off again before he left, sitting it by his trunk next to the bedroom door.

Then, all that was left was to wait.

An hour passed, in which Harry did nothing but pace.

Then another hour passed and Harry heard the Dursleys waking up and going about their morning rituals.

In another half an hour, the sizzling of bacon could be heard from the kitchen downstairs. Harry's heart was in his throat.

Within ten minutes of this, the Dursleys were all at the dining table. Vernon undoubtedly had his morning paper, Dudley was probably stuffing his face and he could hear Aunt Petunia discussing plans to go into London later in the week from all the way upstairs. Harry gripped the wand in his pocket so tightly his knuckles turned white. _Any minute now…_

And indeed, it wasn't but another five minutes before three sharp raps echoed throughout the house and Harry couldn't help his exclamation that followed them. Grabbing his trunk in one hand and Hedwig's cage in the other, he bounded down the stairs, his trunk thumping along noisily behind him. He reached the foyer just in time to see the front door open as three very disgusted platinum blonde wizards came face to face with one Vernon Dursley.

Lucius Malfoy was the first to show any kind of reaction (or so Harry thought, as Vernon was so large that he took up most of the hall and Mr. Malfoy was the only one he could see over his uncle's balding head); he locked eyes over Vernon's shoulder and nodded in greeting. "Mr. Potter," he drawled, his repugnance to his surroundings coming across loud and clear in his voice, "I trust you've been well. Everything is ready to go?"

"Yes sir." Harry began to make his way to the door, but Mr. Malfoy simply held up his hand, signaling him to stop.

"We'll use the floo network – if – of course," he regarded Vernon with a look of pure contempt, "this buffoon of a muggle will remove himself from our path."

By this point, Dudley and Aunt Petunia had come to see what exactly the commotion was and were both standing dumbstruck in the hall behind Harry as Vernon grew steadily redder and angrier before them. "Now you look here, sir," he began and Harry almost wanted to tell him to stop before he got himself into deep trouble – somehow he figured that Lucius Malfoy wouldn't be quite so polite as Hagrid – but he decided finally that he really didn't care _what _Mr. Malfoy did to his uncle. "I don't know who you think you are, but if you think that you're taking even one step into my house- "

But Malfoy had already drawn his wand from the end of his serpentine walking stick and had it pointed threateningly just under his uncle's massive chin. Even from the back, Harry could see Vernon stiffen, Petunia practically shrieking behind him. "I'm not sure who _you _think you are, muggle, but if you don't step aside this instant, I might just curse your entire family. I'd rather not expose my wife and child to your muggle filth for any longer than is absolutely necessary – now if you would." As if to enhance his already frightening threat, he lifted his wand to point right between Harry's uncle's eyes.

Vernon Dursley didn't need to be told twice. Scrambling aside, he finally allowed Harry for a better view. A smile broke out on his face as Draco stepped over the doorstep, black robe billowing behind him as he regarded the foyer with a grim fascination, as if he were exploring an underground catacomb or studying a decaying corpse. He caught Harry's eyes and his own widened slightly. "Wow Harry," he remarked, "you look quite better in decent clothes. I daresay Mother did a good job sorting you out."

Harry grinned. "Thank you again for that," he directed his words at Mrs. Malfoy, but she didn't seem to hear him. If Draco and his father's disgust had been obvious, it was nothing compared to the intense revulsion written on her face.

"Draco, dear – don't touch anything," she placed a firm hand on his shoulder as if that might keep his keep his hands from wandering. "You don't know _what _you might catch in a muggle hovel such as this…"

Harry sniggered when he caught Aunt Petunia's horrified expression. Do doubt Mrs. Malfoy was the first person to ever address her house as a hovel. Dudley whimpered and hid behind his mother (as if the stick of a woman could protect him from anything) and Draco stopped dead in his tracks, eyes widening once again as the obese boy caught his line of vision.

"I say, Mother – look at that!" He pointed enthusiastically at Dudley, who had turned so that his still-attached pigtail was just visible. Draco erupted into a fit of laughter, clutching his sides in pain. "Is this what all muggle children look like?! Good heavens, he looks just like a pig! I wonder if he squeals like one too…?" At this, Dudley finally lost it and ran screaming into the living room, diving behind the sofa and shivering in fear.

Mr. Malfoy's eyes followed him. "That must be the sitting room then," he mused with obvious disapproval, then turning to Harry (and still ignoring the Dursleys completely) he asked, "is that where your hearth is?"

Harry blinked a couple times, trying to make sense of the question. "Er," he started, looking at Mr. Malfoy in confusion, "it is… but why do you need my fireplace?"

Mrs. Malfoy placed a hand on Harry's shoulder and squeezed gently. "But of course he wouldn't know, Lucius, the poor dear. The floo network runs through people's fireplaces, connecting establishments and homes, allowing for easy travel. It's how we'll be arriving at the station this morning."

"Oh," Harry wasn't really sure what else to say. Fireplace travel – who knew? "Well, er, it's right this way," he said, leading the way into the living room. Petunia had already joined her son behind the couch, rubbing his back and calling him 'Diddykins,' telling him that everything would be okay – that the freaky strangers would be gone soon. Draco started sniggering again, only having barely recovered from his previous laughing fit; he was still clutching his sides as if in pain.

Harry showed them to the fireplace, trying not to chuckle himself; he was greatly enjoying the Dursley's fear. _Revenge is sweet, _he thought with a satisfied grin on his face.

Mr. Malfoy, however, was not smiling. Instead, he was regarding the Dursley's fireplace with the same look he had given everything else in the house, including the Dursleys themselves – utter disgust. "_That…_ is your hearth? _This _is how we are to travel? Ludicrous!" Indeed, the fireplace was small. It was not so small that a person could not fit – unless that person was Dudley or Uncle Vernon, of course – but it would definitely be a squeeze. The top of the grate was low, and although the chimney rose all the way through the ceiling, no human being over the age of seven would be able to enter without stooping and undoubtedly getting themselves covered in soot.

Mrs. Malfoy looked appalled at the very thought. "I _told _you we should have used a portkey, Lucius. I thought I made it perfectly clear that I don't want to have to touch any of their muggle filth. Perhaps we could just apparate instead…?"

"You know we can't, Narcissa." Mr. Malfoy sighed. "Potter has surely never side-alonged and with all of his things, it is simply out of the question. We will have to make due with what very little we have. How the boy has survived all these years with such creatures, I shall never know…"

"Now you wait just one minute, you… you freaks," Uncle Vernon spat, once again red in the face. Being called a 'creature' must have jolted him back into 'righteous indignation.' "I will NOT have you people trespassing on my property, terrorizing my family and doing strange things with my ingle! Now – now I must ask you leave at once, before I call the police! Just take your magic carpet or whatever it is you came here by, and…"

But his confidence left him once again in the face of Mr. Malfoy's wand. This time, however, the blonde aristocrat sneered down at him with such ferocity that even Harry had to gulp. Mr. Malfoy had closed the distance between him and Vernon in just under a second and his wand pressed again between his eyes. "_No, you listen to me, you filthy piece of muggle garbage_. I know curses that could disfigure you beyond any of your two-dimensional nightmares. I could easily make you squeal like a stuck hog, rearrange your organs, hang you from the ceiling by your toes – _or _– I could control your wife and son, make them torture you instead. How would you like that?" The Dursleys weren't the only ones stark white after listening to Mr. Malfoy's threat. Harry, although he was glad that they were being put in their place, couldn't help but blanch slightly. He was blatantly reminded that the Malfoy patriarch was not a man to be trifled with in any manner. "I don't know how many of us _freaks _you've met," he continued in a low, seething tone, "but I can assure you that I shall not tolerate being spoken to in such a manner by a stupid _animal_ such as yourself." He spat on Vernon's shoes, then spun on his heel, stalking back to his wife and son, who were still standing by the fireplace, Narcissa with her arms crossed and Draco sneering at Dudley menacingly.

Mr. Malfoy placed his hand on Harry's shoulder as he passed, guiding him to the grate. Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. "Draco, you go first and show Mr. Potter how it's done. The longer these dirty creatures surround me, the more tempted I shall be to teach them a lesson." He replaced his wand into his walking stick and drew from beneath his cloak a small velvet pouch; emptying some glittery silver powder into his son's waiting hand. Draco grimaced at the fireplace once more, before stepping inside.

"See you soon then," he drawled before tossing the powder down before him. Immediately, brilliant emerald flames shot up, engulfing him. Harry gasped and made a move forward, but Mr. Malfoy's hand still rested on his shoulder and he felt it squeeze tightly. "The Hogwarts Express," Draco exclaimed loudly, and then the flames swallowed him whole and he vanished from sight.

Harry distinctly heard his Aunt gasp through Dudley's frightened sobs. "Now you try, Harry." Mr. Malfoy gave his shoulder another reassuring squeeze before handing him some of the glittery powder. Harry grasped it tightly in his hand and climbed awkwardly after Draco, dragging his trunk along behind him. It took a bit of maneuvering to get everything inside the tiny hearth and he wondered briefly where Draco's own trunk had been, but then Mrs. Malfoy was speaking to him and he pushed the thought from his mind to concentrate on what she was saying.

"Remember to speak very clearly, dear, or you might end up in another location altogether." Harry's heart thumped in his throat. "Just speak the words 'Hogwarts Express' when the flames turn green and you'll be fine." Harry nodded. He cast one last glance around the Dursley's living room, noticing Dudley and Petunia huddled still behind the couch, Vernon now kneeling beside them looking utterly white in the face and the Malfoys standing just in front of them, looking at Harry expectedly. He gulped again, and then threw the powder on the ground, green flames instantly jumping up around him. Unsurprisingly, he supposed, they didn't hurt in the slightest. Speaking in the clearest voice he could muster, he proclaimed, "The Hogwarts Express!"

Then he was spinning very rapidly as the sitting room of Number Four, Privit Drive vanished from sight and he was thrown into a dark vortex of scattered voices and revolving locales.


	3. The Hogwarts Express

Authors Note: Here's chapter 3! Thanks again to everyone who's been reading and reviewing. I love hearing what you guys think!

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, sadly enough. But you should know that already. =)

***

Harry was just beginning to panic when the world abruptly stopped spinning. The sudden stillness seemed to hit him like a freight train and he stumbled out of the grate awkwardly, tripping over his trunk as he went. There was a brief moment in which Harry managed to right himself before something rather large and bright orange collided with him and both him and the object in question went tumbling.

"Oof," the thing proclaimed and Harry grunted in response, his legs somehow having gotten tangled with Hedwig's cage and his back stretched uncomfortably over his trunk. Hedwig was furiously attacking every inch of his pant she could reach. "Sorry, sorry," the thing muttered, attempting to right itself and failing miserably, "My rat ran off on me and I guess I just wasn't – oof – looking where I was going…" On closer inspection, the bright orange mass turned out to be a boy – not much older than Harry if his estimates were correct – with pale skin, freckles and flaming red hair. His nose seemed to be covered in dirt.

Before Harry could respond to the boy, however, there was a shout to his left and Draco appeared, bobbing and weaving through the crowd to reach them. "Get off of him, you cretin," he exclaimed when he arrived on the scene. He grabbed Harry's outstretched hand and tugged, yanking him into an upright position. Hedwig squawked indignantly as her cage rolled back and forth on the ground, snapping at him when he reached down to right it. Draco brushed the soot and dirt off of a very embarrassed Harry's new turtleneck shirt before turning to the redhead and scowling. "What do you think you're doing, ginger? That's Harry Potter you just had a go at. I think an apology is in order."

The boy, who had finally managed to right himself as well, stared dumbly at Harry – eyes flashing up at the scar, which was now quite visible through his tousled bangs. He hurriedly smoothed them down, not caring much for a repeat of events at the Leaky Cauldron. "It's alright, Draco," he muttered uncomfortably. The boy was still staring at him with an open mouth. "It was an accident."

Draco snorted. "Doesn't really matter, does it? He still should have been watching where he was going, the bloody moron."

"Well yeah," Harry couldn't help but agree.

"I don't believe you…" The boy had finally closed his jaw and was staring at Draco and Harry with a fierce expression. "You're a Malfoy, aren't you? My dad told me about your family. I bet you're just yanking my chain – trying to make me look stupid before we even get to Hogwarts with this 'Harry Potter' malarkey. Well it's not going to work on me."

Harry felt a stab of anger surge through him, and he snapped back before Draco had a chance. "Yeah, because I'd totally fake being a guy who lost both his parents to Voldemort and grew up with abusive muggles far away from Wizarding Society. Sounds like _such _a funny joke." Draco gasped and the other boy shuddered violently at the name 'Voldemort,' but Harry continued without apologising, "I don't know what you think you know about Draco, but he's my friend, so just shove off." He bent down to pick up his trunk; only vaguely noticing the slack-jawed redhead and the approving look Draco gave him. "Oh," he continued, moving to stand beside Draco, "and by the way, you don't need us to make you look stupid. You manage that just fine on your own."

Draco sneered. "And close your mouth, ginger. You're drawing flies. I know we're pretty attractive chaps, but we're not interested. Wouldn't want to catch your stupid or anything."

The boy glared back, apparently too distracted to notice the scruffy grey rat that clambered up his leg and perched itself on his shoulder. He opened his mouth, as if to retort back, but at that moment a shrill voice cut through the crowd like a knife, moving steadily closer to them. "Ron? Ron! Oh good gracious boy, where did you- RON!" The boy flinched visibly as a very round, very red woman made her way toward them, hands on her hips and closely followed by four more redheaded children, all ranging in age from a very young looking girl to a tall boy with horn-rimmed glasses.

"Oh look," Draco drawled, nudging Harry in the ribs, "the ginger brigade's come to collect."

The boy before them glared again, but his mother seemed not to have heard, as she scooped him up in her arms and squeezed him tightly before pulling away and giving him a look of fierce reproval. "Ronald, just where _have _you been?! I was worried sick! Crowded as this platform is, who knows what could have happened to you? You should know better, young man!" Draco sniggered, but Harry had the strong urge to plug his ears. This woman could no doubt break glass with her voice alone. "And who are these young men," she asked, looking Harry and Draco up and down. "I hope you're not getting up to trouble already. I swear, if you turn out like your brothers…" She trailed off, eyes stuck somewhere above Harry's head.

Harry spun around and spotted Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy making their way towards them from another grate. They looked strangely free of soot, for having just traveled from the Dursley's living room fireplace.

"Malfoy," the woman nodded stiffly in acknowledgement when the two arrived.

Mrs. Malfoy simply looked down her nose at the whole family while her husband responded curtly, "Weasley."

She smiled – a thin, obviously fake smile – but a smile nonetheless. "I just came to collect my son, as he seemed to be getting acquainted with yours."

Draco snorted. "If you'd call it that." He turned to his father. "Weasley here rushed Harry and then proceeded to insult the Malfoy name when I arrived to untangle them. _Hardly _getting acquainted, I should think."

He sneered at the youngest Weasley boy and the boy turned almost as red as his hair in response. "I didn't… He isn't… MOM! Don't listen to him! I lost Scabbers, I was just trying to find him when-"

"You mean that ugly rat on your shoulder?" Harry pointed, and the Weasley boy started, realizing at last that his rat had, in fact, found him. He grabbed it and exclaimed jubilantly,

"Scabbers! There you are!"

"About bloody time you found him," said one of the other Weasley boys, clapping Ron hard on the back.

"Yeah," another chimed in. With a start, Harry realized that the two were twins. "We thought for sure the poor beast had finally offed himself this time, what with all the feet stomping around – "

" – The train wheels –"

" – Lee's tarantula – "

" – The owls – "

"Okay, okay, guys! I get it!" Ron gripped his rat even tighter, casting a glance at Hedwig, who, Harry noticed as well, was eyeing Scabbers quite hungrily. "I'm sorry, mum," he muttered, but Mrs. Weasley wasn't even paying attention to him; she was still glaring intently at Mrs. Malfoy, who was glaring right back.

"I don't believe for one second that my boy started anything, _Malfoy._ Knowing your kind, he was probably just retaliating to something nasty your boy said."

"_How dare you," _Mrs. Malfoy seethed, gripping Draco's shoulder and pulling him close. "_My kind?_ And just what would that be, Weasley? Wizards? Because I hate to be the one to crush your muggle-loving dreams, but you _are _a witch yourself and you would do well to act like one."

Mrs. Weasley looked as though she was about to explode, so Harry stepped in before things were allowed to escalate. "She's right, Mrs. Weasley. Draco didn't do anything wrong. He was just trying to help when your son leveled off on him." He decided to leave out the part about Draco calling Ron a cretin and a moron. Probably best to just skim over that part.

Mrs. Weasley whipped her head around to glare daggers into Harry instead at his proclamation. "And just who is this, then," she spat, "one of your little Death Eater friends?"

The next moment or two was a blur. In the span of maybe half a second, Mrs. Malfoy cursed, all five Weasley children looked absolutely terrified and Lucius and Draco Malfoy both pulled out their wands at almost the same time that Mrs. Weasley did. Mr. Malfoy was practically snarling and all humour had left Draco's face, his expression dark and angry. Mrs. Weasley looked, for a moment, as though she realized that she had crossed a line, but just as suddenly she glared back, resolutely holding to her words.

"I'll have you know, _woman, _that this is no Death Eater, nor are _we_. This is Harry Potter, a _friend _of my son! How dare you!" Harry could see little bits of spittle flying from Mr. Malfoy's reddening face and was suddenly reminded of just how scary he had been back at the Dursley's. That was nothing compared to this.

His wife seemed just as furious as he, however she spoke in an intense, quiet voice, as if she could pierce a hole straight through the woman in front of her with her tone alone. "That is a very serious accusation, Weasley."

Mrs. Weasley, however, didn't seem to be but the slightest bit afraid, though she did seem shocked at Harry's identity. She gave him a quick once-over and then fixed her angry gaze back at the Malfoys. "Well I was _very_ serious about my accusation. All the more reason Mr. Potter shouldn't be anywhere near you people." By this point, the twins had their wands out as well, and Ron seemed to be scrambling for his own, his sister and older brother both looking too frightened to move.

Harry gazed back and forth between the two families, quite confused and alarmed. He wasn't the only one, as many other people had stopped to stare, openmouthed at the quickly escalating feud. Mr. Malfoy seemed to notice this as well, because he hastily stuffed away his wand and stepped pointedly past the whole Weasley family, ignoring every last one. "Come Draco, Harry. We'll be late if we spend any more time doddling with these blood traitors. They're not worth our spit anyways. Narcissa."

Narcissa walked with her head held high to take the arm her husband offered. Draco spared one last scathing look at the Weasleys before following his parents, Harry at his side. Harry would have turned to glare as well, but his head was swimming with so many questions he could barely think straight. All four made a point to ignore the twin's shouted insults, although the sound seemed to follow them all the way to the train.

Despite what Mr. Malfoy had said earlier about being late, they were actually quite early and thus managed to find a compartment all to themselves. At Draco's urging, Harry had already changed into his school robes and stowed his trunk away in the luggage rack. When the train finally started, however, both boys were practically silent. Draco still appeared to be fuming about earlier events, but Harry simply stared out the window, following the growing rural countryside and contemplating everything he had heard.

Being a wizard was going to take a lot of getting used to, and he felt more and more angry toward the Dursleys everyday for keeping all this from him. There was so much he didn't know! Death Eaters, blood traitors, floo powder… He felt lost just thinking about it all. A Death Eater didn't sound like a particularly pleasant thing to be, nor did a blood traitor; and he remembered, with a shiver, the entire Malfoy family's reaction to being called the former. But what Mrs. Weasley had said afterwards, about Harry not being fit to be with them, what did that mean? Unless she was simply referring to him as a hero like everybody else, stating that he deserved better. Harry fumed silently.

He was getting rather sick of all the negative reception the Malfoys received from everyone he met. Sure they were stuck up, but Hagrid and the Weasley family had acted the exact same way, judging not only the senior Malfoys, but Draco as well.

Harry had also contemplated the reason the Malfoys had taken to him so kindly while they snubbed virtually everyone else. The reason could very well be Harry's status, his fame that attracted them, but in the end, that was the only reason _anyone_ bothered with him – except for Draco. Draco hadn't cared. He had struck up a conversation, offered his friendship before anyone else spared him a second glance, save to stare at his scar, that is.

He turned to sneak a glance at his friend, and Draco met his eyes, smiling slightly. "You okay?" Harry asked, noticing the intensity with which Draco still gripped his robes.

"Fine," he said. He seemed to think on it for a second before adding, "as if I'd let what some Weasley wench said get under my skin." He loosed his grip and smoothed down the front of his robes, regaining his composure. "I suppose you're wondering what a Death Eater is then?"

Harry's cheeks tinted faintly. "Er… yes. I mean, I was, but if you don't want to talk about it…"

"No, it's fine." Draco turned from where he had been staring out the window to look Harry in the eye. "I don't mind," he continued, "and you'd find out eventually anyways, so I'd rather it be from me."

Harry leaned forward in his seat, trying not to look overly interested.

"Death Eaters were the Dark Lord's followers, back when he was alive. They supported his mission – to destroy the statute of secrecy and establish Wizards as the ruling class – an idea I must say I agree with; however, they did… horrible things to achieve it. They tortured and killed anyone who stood in their way – whole families." Harry was looking at him with wide eyes and he must have noticed, because he continued quickly, "It was the Dark Lord himself who killed your parents, but it was the type of thing he normally sent his Death Eaters to do, as I understand." He stopped to regard Harry now, curiosity written clearly on his face. "Just how much _do _you know about what happened that night?"

Harry shrugged. "Just what Hagrid's told me. Vol – sorry – you-know who killed my parents, then he tried to kill me but he couldn't."

"You do know that's what killed him, though, right? Something about you – "

"Wait," Harry interrupted, remembering what Hagrid had said on the matter, "you don't really think he's dead, do you? I was only a baby – I couldn't have…"

Draco leaned forward, eyes shining with barely concealed interest. "But that's the mystery of it, isn't it? No one knows how you managed it, but you did! You killed him! For Merlin's sake, Harry, you're a hero!"

"I'm not!" he snapped, feeling his temper flare. "I was a _baby_, Draco. I mean, I don't even remember what happened. I wasn't doing anybody any favours! Besides, I thought you sympathized with the murderer! Why am I a hero all of a sudden?!" He was being unreasonable and he knew it, but for some reason, he found it difficult to hold his tongue.

Draco narrowed his eyes, seeming to prepare himself for an argument. "I said I agreed with his goals, Potter, not his means. There's no need to bloody attack me for it! I was just curious if you remembered anything from that night. You had to have known that I'd ask eventually."

"Yeah well, since you're so interested, I'll share. I can remember a lot of green light and this high, cold laughter – your bloody saviour, I imagine – laughing at his prior conquests and how easy it would be to murder an infant. That satisfy your curiosity?" Harry turned away and folded his arms, staring out the window once more. There was a long silence between the two of them, almost tangible. The frivolous chatter in the corridor outside their compartment seemed to intensify that silence even further. Harry imagined that perhaps he had gone overboard. He hadn't meant to snap at Draco the way he had; after all, he was sure that his friend didn't mean any offence; Harry was just being too sensitive. He was tired of being called a hero, tired of people prying into a horrible past he couldn't even remember – and maybe he was simply mad at himself that he couldn't remember it. He had just resigned himself to an apology when his companion startled him by doing it first.

"I'm sorry, Harry," the blonde spoke quietly. His eyes were averted, so as not to damage his pride, Harry supposed; but he could easily see the regret there – a kind of guilty sadness, as though he wished he hadn't provoked Harry into his confession. "I shouldn't have prodded. I… wasn't lying when I said that I sympathized with the Dark Lord's cause, but believe me when I say that what he did to you – to your family – was horrible. I… Well, I can't imagine what I would do if I lost Mother and Father…"

Harry caught his eyes finally and smiled, relieved when Draco smiled back, some of the hurt leaving his expression. "I'm sorry too," he said, glad once again that they had avoided a serious row. "I don't know why I acted the way I did. I guess… I guess it just really gets to me now that I know what really happened." Draco nodded in understanding. He seemed to be much more sympathetic once he imagined the same thing happening to his own parents. "I believe you, by the way," Harry continued, "about what you said about You-Know-Who, how you feel about him. I shouldn't have used that against you, just because you hold similar beliefs."

"You're better than the Weasleys, then," Draco said – smile fading fast. Upon Harry's questioning glance, he scooted closer and looked around quickly, as if afraid of being overheard. "It's what I meant to tell you earlier. Some people, the Weasleys included, are inclined to believe that my father – of all people – was a _Death Eater_. As if Father would sink to such levels. He does, of course, believe that muggles should be second-class and he's not afraid to voice his opinion on that matter, but he would never… He wouldn't torture or kill anyone. Not in his right mind, at least."

Harry looked at Draco in confusion. "In his right mind? Why would he do it at all…?"

Draco gathered himself up, narrowing his eyes and straightening his back. He seemed to be compensating for whatever he was about to say – something he was obviously not proud of. "Have you ever heard of the Imperius Curse, Harry?" Harry shook his head. "It's one of the Unforgiveable Curses," he continued. "There are three of them and they're all strictly prohibited – unforgivable, like I said. The Imperius Curse allows for complete control of anyone, wizard, witch, muggle, animal even." He gave Harry a meaningful look and continued in an even lower voice. Harry had to lean forward to hear him. "My father did some… questionable things in the war, things he isn't proud of. You can guess why."

Harry's mouth dropped open. "Voldemort – "

"Don't say his name!" Draco practically yelled.

Harry started. "Sorry, sorry, You-Know-Who, I mean. He was… controlling your father?"

Draco nodded, still looking a bit jumpy. "He did it to a lot of people. Good way to spread fear, you know. You never know who could be watching, controlled by the Dark Lord; you'd never know what you yourself might end up doing to someone. My father was even tried after the war, but his defence held up. He was innocent, technically."

Harry shivered. Magic was a two way street, to be sure. "I'm sorry," he said softly, "both for what happened and for the way you've been treated for it. It's not right for people to assume like that."

Draco smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

Silence once again stretched throughout the compartment as England faded into Scotland in brilliant flashes of green countryside. Harry, who had never left suburbia before, except for a few trips into the city for Dudley's birthday at the zoo and a few other scattered visits, was in awe at the beauty of it all. He had seen Scotland's legendary beauty in movies, of course, but the green of the grass seemed so much more vivid in real life, the hills and plains more breathtaking.

Their silence was finally broken when the trolley passed, both boys jumping at the chance to buy sweets. After the brutal realisation that there were no Mars Bars in the wizarding world, Harry proceeded to purchase at least one of everything he saw, from Chocolate Frogs, to Pumpkin Pasties, to Liquorice Wands and Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. Draco practically snorted at the pile of sweets, but didn't complain, and as soon as the trolley left they both tucked in to their veritable feast.

They had already made their way through several chocolate frogs apiece, and Harry was just trying to discover the best way to eat a liquorice wand without being shot in the face with green sparkles when their compartment door was thrown aside gracelessly to reveal a girl with bushy brown hair and obnoxiously large front teeth, followed closely by a small boy with a round face. Harry simply stopped mid-chomp and stared, while Draco coughed and spluttered on his piece of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum.

"Sorry to interrupt," the girl said in a high, shrill voice, "but have either of you seen a toad? Neville's lost one."

Harry shook his head, his Liquorice Wand still feebly attempting to hex him even though it had been bitten in half. Draco coughed once more, his eyes watering. "My gum…" he wheezed.

"Oh for heaven's sake," the girl sighed, exasperated, "you shouldn't swallow gum, you know. My parents told me once that it won't digest for seven years. They were lying, of course – both dentists, you know – but all the same, it's terrible for your stomach, even worse for our teeth."

Draco gave Harry a bewildered look. "Dentists?"

"Oh but of course you wouldn't know," the girl chirped, "Dentistry is a muggle profession – the care of people's teeth. Both my parents are muggles so you can imagine their shock when I received my letter. We've never had a witch in the family before. Of course I've practically memorized all my schoolbooks already, but I can't wait to begin my studies! It's all so fascinating, isn't it?" She paused to take a much-needed breath while Harry and Draco exchanged glances. This one was going down on his list of people to stay far away from, right above the Weasley boy. "My name's Hermione, by the way, Hermione Granger." She stuck her hand out proudly, smiling at them both.

Draco regarded the hand as though it carried some violent form of infectious disease, and Harry simply stared at the girl in disbelief. There was no way she could be for real. Hermione finally retracted her hand, looking a bit disappointed.

"Draco Malfoy," Draco finally said, still looking down his nose at the girl, "and this is Harry Potter. Excuse us if we'd rather not sully our hands with your mudblood filth, but we do have dinner yet to go."

The boy behind Hermione Granger gasped, startling Harry, who had forgotten that he was still there. Hermione, however, simply narrowed her eyes and shifted her glance to their towering pile of sweets. "I can see that," she said coldly. "Well you can just go ahead and choke on your junk food and die, for all I care. I'll not interrupt you again." She spun on her heel and stalked from the doorway, Neville staring dumbly at Draco and Harry before her shrill voice carried back to him and he jolted, scrambling after her. "Come on, Neville, let's go and find out when we'll be arriving. Leave these two idiots to stuff their faces in peace."

Draco slammed the door behind them, scoffing, and flopped back into his seat rather unceremoniously. "Pass me one of those pasties, will you, Harry?"

Harry tossed one to him, still staring off after the bossy know-it-all and her sidekick. "Draco," he began, turning to look at his friend, "what's a mudblood?"

"Mm," Draco finished chewing his bit of pasty and swallowed. "A _mudblood _is a muggle who thinks he's a wizard. You know, someone who's born to muggles but can do bits of magic." He took another bite of pasty.

Harry frowned. "But I thought wizards could only be born to other wizards?"

"That's the way it's supposed to be," he drawled, "but every once in a while, a muggle's born with magic ability and crackpots like that Albus Dumbledore go and invite them to Hogwarts where they inevitably learn things they shouldn't be privy to and then breed with respectable purebloods, dirtying the bloodlines and pushing true purebloods like me to the brink of extinction." He crumpled up his pasty wrapper and tossed it on the seat next to him before continuing, "It's getting harder and harder to find witches with a decent lineage, Father says. I don't know how I should be expected to find a suitable wife at this rate."

Harry couldn't help the snort that followed this, but he quickly suppressed it at Draco's glare. "Sorry," he said, "but surely you're not already thinking about marriage? You're what, eleven? Isn't it a bit early to be thinking like that, mate?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course not. The Malfoy name is an old one and I'm my parent's only child. I have to marry someone with pure blood to carry on the line, don't I? I'm only reminded of it every other day. Can't be fooling around with the wrong crowd…" He glanced out the window, for the first time looking rather bitter about his family. "I don't really have much of a choice who I marry, come right down to it."

Harry put a hand on Draco's knee and squeezed, not sure what else he could do to comfort his friend. He couldn't imagine such a restricted life. "That's rough," he muttered. He was lost on what else to say.

Face softening momentarily at Harry's touch, Draco smiled. Harry couldn't help but notice the slight pinkish tinge on his friend's cheeks, so he hurriedly jerked back his hand to scratch his nose, feeling his own face start to burn. Draco's smile faltered for a split second before he replaced it with a smirk. "It doesn't matter," he drawled, inspecting his nails in a very interested fashion. "It's not like I could possibly fall for anyone of a lower calibre anyways." He grinned at Harry, who grinned back.

After that, they sat in a thick silence until a voice echoed throughout the train, informing them they had arrived at Hogwarts. The two exited the train wordlessly.


End file.
